


Marie and Kacey

by courtneyXgrace



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, Blood, Cousins, Cutting, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Forgiveness, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt, I'm Sorry, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneyXgrace/pseuds/courtneyXgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been eight years, since Maire and I, have spoken last. She can not forgive me for taking away her peace, her happiness, her high. And I can not forgive myself for taking away her freedom. Her choice. Maybe one day she will forgive me. Maybe one day I can forgive myself. Until then her memory haunts me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marie and Kacey

**Author's Note:**

> The writing prompt for my creative writing class was "our worst memory". Obviously the names have been changed. We had to publish one of our works for a semester grade so here goes. Let me know if you like it. :)

 

     Life is not always fair. I learnt that the hard way growing up. My name is Kacey and this is one of my worst memories.

     I was ten years old when I watched my cousin almost die. It was right after school , and I was excited to show my mom the “A” I had gotten in science. I remember running most of the way home, I just couldn't wait to get there. The door was unlocked so I knew that Marie was home. I wondered what she would say about the “A”. Marie was my hero. She was in the seventh grade so that meant she knew everything. I remember walking into our room and seeing her school bag on the bed. Everything was weird though, because the draws in Marie's desk where open. I called her name at least six times but she wouldn't answer. As I was looking for her I had seen that the bathroom light was on, sometimes the door jammed so you could be stuck in there for hours waiting for someone to open the door for you.There was a trick to open the door, you could slide a magnet in the door jamb and it would pop open. I felt like magic every time I did that. Now every time I need to do that, I have to beat down the acid that tries to force its way up my throat, the smell of copper lodged in my nose.

   Sometimes I wish that I never opened that door. What I seen when that door opened haunted me.It still does. I remember my paper floating down to the floor, I remember blood staining my paper red. I remember thinking of Alice in Wonderland, “painting the roses red, we’re painting the roses red” it just kept going through my mind, over and over and over. I remember the knife falling out of her slacked grip when the door hit her foot. I don't remember screaming. I don’t remember Bob, the man downstairs, running up to see what was wrong. I don’t remember my aunt coming home or the ambulance. I just remember thinking “wake up.” But Marie didn't wake up for a long time after that. I saved her life that night. And she never lets me forget it. The trip the hospital was nearly silent, other than my aunts sobs. Her whispers of oh “why” never registered in my brain. I stared out the window and all I could see was Marie on the floor that puddle of blood spilling out of her arms.

   The Hospital staff was the first to really notice me. “Miss, are you ok?” I don't think I answered her. I just stared in to her green eyes- Marie eyes- and all I could see was her on the floor again. That's when mom said I started screaming again. They had to sedate me. For six years I went to therapy. Everyone claims I saved Marie that day. They say I should be proud. Marie does not think I saved her. She thinks I ruined her only chance of freedom. I do not think I saved her either. Because either way I lost my best friend. Sometimes I think it would have been easier if it had been by death and not hate. When were young, were blind to the pain and suffering of others. I did not have that luxury and longer. At ten years old I stopped being a child, The pain of her suffering aging me tenfold. The scars of that night have never faded. They stand visible on her arm, and invisible on my mind. For years I agonized over that night, the memory of it still fresh. There are times when I still wake up in a cold sweat. I stare at my hands like the blood that covered them was still there. The chips in my nail polish flaking off like bits of her blood.

   It has been eight years, since Marie and I, have spoken last. She can not forgive me for taking away her peace, her happiness, her high. And I can not forgive myself for taking away her freedom. Her choice. Maybe one day she will forgive me. Maybe one day I can forgive myself. Until then her memory haunts me.

   Years later, I still wake up screaming. Its something that haunts you forever. It doesn't go away no matter how much you wish it would. Marie’s “accident”, as we started calling it, messed me up horribly. I couldn't be around sharp knives for years without having a panic attack. Every time I just see that knife falling in a slow arc over and over and over. It has been eight years and Marie cannot forgive me for saving her life. And I? I can not forgive her for taking mine. She stole my childhood. Pledged me with nightmares. Maybe one day we will be able to forgive each other. And that will be the day, both of our scars heal.


End file.
